


Little Shadow

by OldMagpie (MagpieMorality)



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Booker has lost his wife and children, Gen, Orphan Child Nicky, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, ambiguous setting, children's home
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 05:42:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29380119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagpieMorality/pseuds/OldMagpie
Summary: Booker isn't sure he's ready for Andy to drag him into a children's home for their next job. It's been some time since his loss but he can't help but worry.He needn't have bothered. What awaits him is some positive change in the form of a quiet little boy...
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Booker | Sebastien le Livre, Booker | Sebastien le Livre & Nicky | Nicolo di Genova
Comments: 15
Kudos: 77





	Little Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd, although I'm really crossing my fingers that the language is correct and that there are no typos, after the fam already read through this <3
> 
> This one is especially for Soa, who encourages me to love and cherish and support our frenchman!

Booker knows, objectively, that Andy has only his best interests at heart. She is his best friend - his ride or die life companion - and she genuinely wants him to recover from his inarguably unbelievable loss. It's just a little hard to believe when she's dragged him along on her current work project (okay dragged along is the wrong way to put it - she has kindly employed him to make sure he can keep paying his mortgage and actually get out of the house with a strong excuse to get away from drinking at last).

Because her project this week is building a jungle gym for an orphanage. Oh sure, she calls it a children's home, but that hardly makes it _better_. _Yes Andy, it has been years since the accident. No Andy, it is not any easier to see a bunch of curious children running around._

"This is cruel."

"This is work, Book. And we both know you are doing far better than the man who would have been unable to handle this. You're strong, and you're my staff, so help me with those bars and we'll concentrate on just the work, alright?" she promises, squeezing the back of his neck gently. "If it gets too much then tell me, but have a little faith - I don't think this will be your limit."

She's right, as always. The work is routine enough to complete, and for the first morning the children don't even end up outside while they're there. But afternoon they do, and even then Booker finds the chatter and ruckus of the full playground around them to be sort of... sweet. It doesn't stop him missing his boys, or the pang of memory of their voices in the same joyful excitement, but it's more grounding than he could have expected.

Perhaps the therapy really _has_ helped?

Another thing Andy was right about.

It's at the end of day one that Booker notices his silent shadow. A boy, probably barely school age, with big eyes and messy brown hair, hovering nearby against a spindly tree trunk. The other kids don't interact with him, and he just stares, watching Booker work, chewing on his scarf, his hands thoroughly mittened-up against the cold weather.

Booker smiles at him and he spooks, moving half behind the tree, as though that little thing hides him much at all. It makes Booker chuckle softly, but he leaves the boy be, turning back to trying to fit the bolts through the soft ground pads so the swing-set can be hauled upright tomorrow. When the kids are called back inside for their evening meal, and Booker is packing up for the day, he looks back. The boy is still there looking at him, but runs off at the second bell, vanishing among the others.

Day two goes much the same, but the boy doesn't hide away when Booker smiles at him, and even lifts his own mittened hand hesitantly when Booker waves him goodbye that evening.

Day three is when it really changes. Booker is concentrating very hard on using the powered screwdriver to fix the fireman's pole to the tree-house, leaned up to the top of his not-inconsiderable height. He goes to step back and nearly crushes the poor kid, narrowly avoiding him with a quick swerve as the boy squeaks and stumbles back, tripping onto the floor.

The screwdriver is safely down in a moment and Booker kneels at his side, helping him up and checking him over. The boy swallows and then sucks his scarf back into his mouth to chew on, brushing himself off. He watches Booker's face carefully when the adult speaks.

"Careful mon petit, you could be hurt if I don't know where you are. And you're so quiet, like a little mouse, I would never want to hurt you!"

If he understands he doesn't say anything but Booker feels better anyway. He guides his shadow to the side carefully, hands on his shoulders through his puffy jacket, and waits for him to stand still out of the way before picking the screwdriver up again. A few minutes later he sees something out of the corner of his eye and looks down to find his little shadow stood by his leg, head craned back, squinting up to watch Booker fight with the most stubborn screws he's ever encountered.

"Now, petit souris, that's not what I told you was safe, hein? Go back." This time when Booker tries to move him the little boy refuses to go, stomping his foot until Booker has to crouch down to face his thundercloud-scowl. "I am not telling you to go away, I promise. But you can't stand so close either," he explains quietly, chucking the boy's cheek. The poor thing still looks achingly upset so Booker thinks quickly. He knows a few tricks, from his first go round as a parent. They should work here. "My name is Sébastien. What is your name, my friend?"

"Nicolò."

"Well Nicolò, would you like to help me? I need someone to go and get me seven of the screws with the crosses on top. The ones that are about as long as, mm, show me your fingers?"

Nicolò tugs a mitten off and holds out a hand far tinier than Booker had remembered hands could be. It's small and soft and warm in his palm and he feels the long-lost urge to gently hold it tight and never let go. "I see," he forces himself to say, clearing his throat quickly. "The screws will be as long as two of your thumbs, from here to here, almost. If you can't find the ones you're sure of then bring different ones and I'll show you, alright?"

"Yes!" Nicolò agrees eagerly, upset forgotten. He runs off in the direction of Booker's toolbox, flopping onto his knees and rummaging through the plastic boxes of various sized screws, his mitten dangling from the line that keeps it connected to the other one. It's absolutely heart-meltingly cute.

Booker goes as far as humming his good mood aloud, trying to finish up with the power tools before Nicolò is done. Andy appears from the other side where she's been focused on the seesaw, a gaggle of kids trailing after her as she speaks to them in a range of languages, and when she spots Booker she just sighs dramatically and shoots him a wink. They both blink when there's a tug on Booker's sleeve, Andy raising an eyebrow when he bends down to accept the screws from his returned shadow, solemnly thanking his little helper. He tries not to blush, all-too-aware of the soft look Andy is probably giving him.

Well he'd defy anyone not to find Nicolò delightfully charming. It might not be an orphanage, exactly, but the children here must be up for adoption, right? There will be a wonderful home out there waiting for him with loving parents. Booker absolutely doesn't imagine standing in his kitchen with Nicolò on the wooden stool beside him, helping him cook. He doesn't imagine introducing him to all the old children's classics he had once introduced to his sons all those years ago. He doesn't imagine wrapping Nicolò into a hug outside in the snow, helping him tie his shoes and pulling his hat too far down so he laughs.

Well maybe he does, but only for a moment. He's only known the kid for a day, or realistically less than that. Just because Booker is lonely and the kid is, as it were, available, doesn't mean anything.

It will be a nice week and then back to business as usual. He might even thank Andy for the experience.

"Is it wrong?" Nicolò's voice disturbs his thoughts, still gripping his sleeve, frowning up with his nose wrinkled. His frown deepens when Booker blinks at him, the screws cradled in his palm.

"No, no Nicolò it's good. Here, I have an even more special job-"

Booker keeps Nicolò occupied for the rest of the playtime. He mourns the loss of his shadow when the kids go back inside for their lessons, and tries to convince himself he's not lingering when he finishes for the day before the kids are out again for their pre-dinner recreation time. He has to leave without seeing Nicolò and he feels... unreasonably guilty about it. Even Andy notices, keeping the music in the van down low so he can stew without getting irritated.

Nicolò is hesitant again the next day, but when Booker offers him another job he careens forwards, hugging his legs tightly. He squawks when Booker turns a gentle hand on his head into a ruffle of his hair, and trots after him to the next bit.

And then it's Friday, the final day of the job, and really there's not much to do.

"Why don't you go have a look around, compliment some of his art or something?" Andy suggests when he hovers by her, Nicolò tucked into his side. "Can you show him your schoolwork, little one?"

Nicolò nods extremely seriously, and takes Booker's hand to lead him inside before Booker can protest what a terrible idea this is. He has a feeling Andy knows as well, but whatever conclusion she's come to is very different from his vague melancholy, apparently.

Anyway it's not as though Booker could say no to Nicolò now.

They're both quiet as ever while Nicolò guides Booker inside and through the corridors. It's a more cheerful place than Booker had imagined - the school side of it is well decorated and busy with work pinned all over the place. Nicolò points out a few bits of his work (serious trees and a cat, and a nicely drawn chicken made out of a handprint on the art room wall but no people) and keeps them moving until they reach the dormitories. He pushes open the door to a room with two bunk beds.

"I sleep here," he tells Booker, sitting on a lower one and pulling a book from the attachment that hangs off the side, pushing it into Booker's hands. "Can you read it? Please?" Nicolò asks carefully, looking at him with those deadly, big eyes. Booker nods, sitting beside him and checking the cover. It's in Italian, which will be a struggle, but he'll give it a go. Nicolò sits on the edge next to him and peers over as Booker opens it up, relieved to see it's a learning book and there's a translation into English on each opposite page. He still reads the Italian and Nicolò's little open mouthed gape of awe and wonder and surprise is worth it when he starts.

When that book is done Nicolò pulls out another, silently begging with his eyes when Booker hesitates. By the end of it Nicolò is slumped against his side and Booker just naturally lifts an arm over him to let him get comfortable, massacring the poor kid's language.

They're still reading when Andy finds him, led by one of the staff. The two women lean in the door and smile twin smiles at Booker that make him want to fidget in embarrassment. Nicolò clearly feels the same way and presses harder against him until Booker looks down. Then they share small, shy smiles of their own and everything just feels right in the world for a moment.

It's entirely unfair that they have to leave then. Booker wants to stay for hours, for days, for _weeks_. He wants to-

He wants to take Nicolò home with him, but it's hardly that easy.

"You know," Andy murmurs, as they descend the schoolhouse steps back into the playground for the grand opening (which is just a little ceremony to officially let the kids use it at last). "They have an open day on Sunday, for interested prospective parents."

"Andy. No," Booker protests weakly. "Don't say it's possible. I'm- it's not that simple. What if we aren't right for each other? Why would I pass the checks- I'm a mess!"

"You haven't been a mess for well over a year now, Sébastien," Andy tells him firmly. "And I don't think you're meant to find the perfect fit in these situations. You just find a kid that needs you that you need back, and make it work from there like any parent would."

Booker can't bear to talk about it, but he can't bear to ignore Nicolò either when he comes and holds Booker's hand throughout the brief flurry of speeches that must seem to take an age to a kid that young. Nicolò sighs a few times like it does, at least, brushing his hair away from his face while Booker melts in his general direction. He doesn't run off with the others to test the new equipment but tugs on Booker's jacket until the man crouches down, and then shyly asks if he can pick Nicolò up.

"One ride to the top for monsieur Nicolò," Booker chirps, and then lifts the kid up onto his shoulders, because he can and because it makes Nicolò gasp in delight. He can't grip tightly with his mittens back on so he wraps his arms almost all the way around Booker's forehead, leaning his chin on the top of Booker's head. Booker shows him around the new jungle gym, explaining all the different parts while Nicolò silently listens, clutching onto him. He quietly and politely declines repeatedly as Booker tries to cajole him into joining the children in trying it out, which Booker is only slightly happy about. He gets to keep the kid nice and close for a bit longer - what's not to love about that?

"You know, Sébastien also does really good spins, Nicolò," Andy says when they join her. That's all it takes for Nicolò to be squirming to be put down and then insisting on experiencing these spins.

Booker goes dizzy from gently and carefully letting the kid rise into the air because it makes him laugh. Actual, real laughter, giggles spilling out wildly until he can hardly breathe, flopping against Booker's legs, unable to catch his balance. Booker sweeps him up on pure instinct and holds him comfortably on his hip, ignoring the way Andy is now starting to say her goodbyes.

When she reaches him it's all Booker can do not to clutch Nicolò tight and refuse to let go. Andy's slow blink says she understands, and she turns to Nicolò first.

"So little one, have you had fun with Sébastien?"

"Yes," Nicolò nods instantly. "He's nice."

"Is he? He's always so mean to me!"

"No! He's very nice!"

"If you're sure..."

"Yes, he's the nicest _ever_." Nicolò defends him ardently. Andy relents.

"Alright. We have to go now I'm afraid, Nicolò, you'll have to say goodbye-"

Booker jumps when Nicolò abruptly clamps his hands over his ears and starts yelling "la la la" at the top of his lungs, squeezing his eyes shut for good measure. Andy looks almost as heartbroken as he feels, at that reaction. "Nicolò, petit ombre, hey look at me now," he soothes, drawing Nicolò's hands away and tapping his nose to get him to open his eyes. It feels like now or never, and the despair in Nicolò's eyes - too young to be looking that way, if Booker has any say in the matter - pushes him to take the risk. "I will see you on Sunday, if you want me to come back."

"Sunday?"

"Yes, that's two days from now. Two sleeps and I will come back."

"On the mamma and papà day?"

He gulps and then nods slowly. Nicolò's eyes widen and he throws himself forwards to hug Booker tightly. "I'll come and hang out with you, Nicolò, and we can maybe talk about going to do something fun another time. If you would like that."

"Yes please." It's mumbled into his jacket collar.

"What was that?" Booker asks, grinning, pretending not to hear. Nicolò surfaces with a shy smile of his own and repeats himself, nodding. Booker puts him down but crouches at his level and squeezes his hand the way he'd wanted to when he first saw it. "Well then. I will see you soon. Remember - two sleeps."

"Two sleeps!" Nicolò agrees.

The sight of him waving them off from the gates, beaming broadly, keeps Booker going that night and all through Saturday, and he hopes the same for Nicolò.

When he shows up alone on Sunday, hovering near the back of the arriving adoption-hopefuls he wonders if he's made a mistake. Nicolò is nowhere to be seen.

Booker sighs, mentally erasing all the planning thoughts he'd been running through his mind to keep from panicking, about what work would need to be done on the house to make it suitable; what paperwork they'd likely require; which were good spots for outings to get to know each other. And then-

"Sébastien!" Running through the crowd clutching a picture of a little figure and a big one, with a rudimentary drill and some screws, is Nicolò.

Booker smiles and bends down to catch him when he comes.

_The End._

**Author's Note:**

> Other future scenes: 
> 
> \- Nicky and Booker cooking together  
> \- Booker managing Nicky's absolute genuine meltdown over the concept of the tooth fairy  
> \- The first time Nicky gets sick and Booker (despite telling himself he remembers this from his first kids and he should be chill) is Not Chill  
> \- Nicky meets Joe at school and all the inevitable shenanigans thereafter (playdates, fake marriages, The Time They Get Caught...)


End file.
